Something I Left Behind
by Aksannyi
Summary: This is a missing scene from Past, Present, Future, which explains how Tali came to be. Yes, the M rating is there for a reason. This is angsty, given the nature of the episode it comes from. I'm sorry about that, but it really couldn't be helped.


**This is set during Past, Present, Future. Yes, I hate that episode. Yes, I hate what they did to Ziva's character. Still, now that we know that they conceived a child at some point while Tony was with her in Israel, I would be remiss not to try and write about it.**

 **This is smut, but it's also angsty smut. I'm not sure that's a thing, but it is now.**

 **Happy birthday to Roxy! I made it with like 10 minutes to spare! I really need to work on this procrastination thing.**

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He felt Ziva's hands tentatively touching his face, cradling his head gently in her hands as she leaned forward, leaned closer to him, and he thought for sure that she would kiss him. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable, feeling like – maybe – he had gotten through to her, and she would come home with him if he asked her again.

Instead, she merely leaned her forehead into his, and Tony opened his eyes, gazing into hers, feeling the hopelessness wash over him like a wave, speaking softly. "I'm fighting for you, Ziva," he breathed, knowing even then that the fight was leaving him, that she was defeating him, her resolve to leave everything, leave _him,_ was unwavering even as she held him close.

"I know," she breathed, and he closed his eyes again, letting the wind carry her words away from him as she finally closed the distance, pressing the lightest of kisses possible against his lips.

 _God,_ but it wasn't enough. "Ziva," he breathed when she pulled away, shuddering at the way his voice sounded. He needed her, craved her, and she was slowly slipping away from him. It was almost as if he could feel her crumbling before him, or perhaps flying away on the gentle breeze flowing through the orange grove.

"Tony," she simply said, and she had backed away again, retreating into herself. He was reluctant to let her go, but it was clear that she didn't want him to press the issue, so he followed her lead, immediately missing the feel of her fingers against his unshaven jawline and the scent of her hair, close enough that he could have run his hands through it, just this once, if he'd had the courage to reach out.

Wordlessly, he followed her back to the house, where he suspected that she would discover new spectacular ways to crush his already wounded soul, but when they crossed the threshold, she turned suddenly, meeting his gaze, searching, uncertain, and he desperately wanted to remove all of her doubts until she was secure again in the knowledge that he would always want her, always _love_ her.

She took his hand, and he slowly looked down where their fingers met, feeling, for the moment, as though someone else was holding her hand, and he were merely observing from the outside, his head spinning with the surrealism of it all, that after everything they'd shared, Ziva was about to walk out of his life entirely, without so much more than that tiny, almost-nothing kiss between them.

That could _not_ be how it ended, could it?

"Give me one night," he spoke through the growing lump in his throat, his voice sounding gravelly, a squeeze passing from his hand to hers.

She looked at him then, confusion shining in her eyes as he added, "Please."

"One night for what?"

"Just one night of being open, no walls, no barriers. Please just give me that, and if you still want me to leave, I'll book the next flight out."

She pursed her lips together, and Tony watched as she swallowed down a lump of something, perhaps her tears, or maybe her guilt at the way he was practically on his knees, _begging_ her for another chance. "I do not know if I can do that," she spoke softly, her words enunciated under the return of her accent. It was something he loved about her, how she would carry a slight accent for a few days whenever she'd returned to Israel, even for a short amount of time.

Maybe he should have told her that. Maybe he should tell her _now._ He swallowed his own lump, his eyes pleading with her as he squeezed her hand again. "Try," he begged, his voice again wavering, as though it was taking every last bit of effort for him not to cry.

It was.

She surprised him by leaning forward, and he caught her in his arms when she pressed against him, her arms wrapping tightly around him in a strong hug. Tony ran his hand up the length of her back and back down again, hoping that whatever he was doing wouldn't cause her to turn and run at the first opportunity. He'd never seen her like this, and he wished he could make her understand that this _wasn't her,_ that she was loved … that _he_ loved her, despite everything. Hell, _because_ of everything, because it had all made her the woman she was today. Hadn't he told her that? Before? Why wouldn't she believe him?

"I…" he started to say, but Ziva backed away from him, pressing her finger to his lips, silencing him.

"No, Tony," she breathed, closing her eyes for just a moment, against the onslaught of tears, perhaps? How had she known what he had been about to say?

"Ziva…" He couldn't finish. She didn't want to believe that he could love her, and she wouldn't even let him _say_ it. He met her gaze, his eyes crinkling in confusion, pleading with her to let him in. _Please._

He _would_ say it, at least once before he left. He promised himself that much. If she was determined to stay, if she was determined to let him walk away and never take the chance on _them,_ then he was at least going to make sure she knew how he felt. And right now, all he wanted was to love her, to make her forget her doubts and remember all they'd shared together over the past several years. How close they'd grown and how much his life had become intertwined with hers, so much so that he couldn't even begin to imagine what his world would be like without her.

The thought took the breath right out of him, and he reeled back as though he'd been shoved. Live without Ziva? He gasped for breath. It was the first time he had considered it as a real possibility, and the only time he'd ever felt this constriction in his chest had been when he was laid up with the plague.

In fact, the plague may have been easier to breathe through than _this_ was.

"Tony?" she stepped forward, her hand reaching out to grasp at his chest, her mouth hanging open and her eyes wide with panic. What was happening? Tony was gasping for breath, stumbling for air, and she didn't know how to help him. God, but she didn't want him to _die,_ for heaven's sake, she just needed some … _time._

"Tony, breathe," she soothed, leading him to the couch and sitting him down, rubbing circles on his back as she did so. He continued to wheeze, his breath coming in short, painful gasps, and she spoke soothingly. "I am right here."

"Don't…" he began, but resumed sucking for air, his throat feeling just as constricted as his lungs. What the hell was happening to him?

She shushed him, pushing a strand of hair away from his eyes, gazing deeply into them. "Do not try to speak, Tony. Just breathe, all right? Concentrate on the air coming in, and then think about it leaving. Just breathe," she said again. Ziva had no idea whether what she was doing was working, but the best she could do right now, she figured, was sit by him and encourage him to breathe until he could calm down. "I am not going anywhere," she said softly, and that … _that_ was what seemed to calm him down, the gentle reassurance that she would not leave him.

It was then that she realized what had triggered the attack, and she felt guilt settling upon her shoulders like a heavy blanket she couldn't shake away. _She_ had caused this. She had been the one to cause him this pain, and the sooner she could distance herself from him, the sooner he could separate himself from this pain.

She sat back on the sofa, scooting away from him and crossing her leg away from him, leaning elbow on the arm of the couch. Tony took another deep breath as he turned to face her, noting the way she had closed herself off to him. "Ziva… this isn't your fault."

She turned to look at him then, her pained expression making his heart clench. Oh, if he could only take that pain away, every last bit of it. "Like I said, Tony," she breathed softly, her eyes lowering, her gaze suddenly very interested in the shoes he was wearing, "the center of all this pain is me."

"That's _not_ true." He hadn't meant to raise his voice, but he needed to speak firmly, to make her understand. _She_ hadn't been the one who had leveled terrorist threats against people, or murdered countless people out of some misguided set of beliefs. She had merely been the one to stopit from continuing. How many more lives would have been taken if not for her intervention? Ziva was a force for _good,_ and it killed him that she couldn't see it.

"It _is."_ She uncrossed her legs and stood up, walking away from the living room and down the hallway, and he couldn't help but follow her, _needing_ to show her somehow that she was wrong, she had never been more wrong about anything. He grabbed her arm, turning her to face him, and she challenged him, but didn't shake him off.

"It's not," he said quietly, his gaze softening as he met hers. He didn't know how to make her see herself the way _he_ saw her, as someone worth fighting for.

He didn't know how to make her see _them_ as somethingworth fighting for.

"I cannot …" she began, taking a sigh as she pursed her lips together, her thoughts a jumbled mess inside her head. She felt his gaze upon her, heavy and hopeful, and _god,_ she loved the way he stared at her with such intensity, the way he would look at her as though she were something precious … somehow, it almost made her believe that she could be his world.

"Only a night?" she asked, tilting her head to the side slightly, her voice unsteady. Ziva wasn't sure if she could forget about everything, about all of the pain she had caused, but Tony had always given his everything to her, and she wanted to try to give him at least the single night he'd asked for.

He nodded slightly, and she spoke again. "I cannot make any promises, Tony."

"The only promise I need is that you try."

Ziva closed her eyes at his words, letting them wash over her. He sounded so broken, so fragile, and she couldn't help the guilt that began to form at his words. She nodded slightly, not wanting to break their gaze, and she smiled slightly in response to his own slow smile. Could she really just push everything aside for one night and just spend time with him, live in the moment?

It was a few more moments before she spoke, but when she did, she met his eyes again, and with a deep breath, exhaled the word. "Okay." She was momentarily surprised when he pulled her close, crushing her body against his in a tight hug, and she sucked in a breath at how good it felt to let Tony wrap himself around her. He was one of the only people she really trusted to hold her, and she allowed herself to relax into his embrace.

When he pulled back, it was only to lean forward and kiss her on the forehead, his hands settling comfortably on her shoulders, and she flashed back to a time just a few months ago, when he'd told her that nothing would ever be awkward between them. She'd believed him then, and she allowed herself to believe it again. She closed her eyes against the feel of his lips on her skin, and when she opened them again, she tilted her head slightly, noting that this time, he seemed to be leaning to kiss her properly, the way he should have the first time.

Ziva drew in a breath and prepared for it, allowing it, and when his lips met hers oh-so-tenderly, she parted them and allowed him access, slowly drawing her hands up his arms and to the back of his neck, permitting herself this one indulgence in what she'd wanted for so long.

It didn't last, not nearly as long as he would have liked it to, but he didn't want to push her. He had never seen Ziva this fragile, almost breakable, and he felt as though there was an entirely new set of rules with her. _Handle with care,_ he'd said once. _Contents priceless._ If only he'd known then that he'd be taking his own damn advice.

Sensing his hesitation, Ziva leaned forward again, touching her forehead to his, and whispered softly against his mouth, "I won't break, Tony."

He chuckled outwardly, relief flooding over him as he felt his ninja returning to him. His _real_ ninja, not this confused, sad, and self-doubting version he'd found when he first arrived. He'd be lying to himself if he said that he wasn't trying to get her to remember who she was, who _they_ were, and hoping that tonight would be long enough to convince her to return with him. Or at least delay her a little.

Or at least that this night would pass in such a way that she would not forget him or how he felt, and that possibly, she would find her way back to him.

Their foreheads were still pressed together, and he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist as he leaned forward, desperately wanting another taste of her. The kisses she'd given him were both familiar and foreign, like coming home after months adrift, only to find that things had altered somehow. He wanted them to be familiar; never foreign.

She gasped into the kiss, allowing him to deepen it, his hand shifting up her back and into her hair. She'd always suspected that he had longed to run his fingers through her hair, and as she felt them tangling in the unruly curls, she smiled against him, pulling back slightly to nibble on his bottom lip. Tony let out a growl, the likes of which she'd never heard from him, and suddenly the mood in the room shifted – what was once tentative, somber even, had now become something else entirely. Ziva shivered against him, allowing the heat from his body to settle somewhere deep within her.

If she had promised him this night, this one night, then she would make a decision right now, as she melted into his embrace and let the sensation of his essence surround her. She would have this one golden night with him; memorize every part of him, every part of _them._ Then when she asked him to leave after tonight had expired and morning came, she could let him walk away with no regrets, no "what could have been" hanging over her head.

By giving herself to him, maybe she could somehow find the freedom she sought from the demons that plagued her.

 _Enough thinking,_ she thought to herself, and focused only on the feeling of Tony's mouth on hers. His lips were warm and soft, more gentle than she remembered. Then again, the last time she had kissed him, it hadn't meant anything, and this … this meant something.

He pulled away briefly, gasping for breath, his mouth hovering near hers. "I…" he spoke, but only just. She reached between them to put her finger on his lips, as if to silence whatever he had been about to say. Surely there were words he meant to utter before he left, but not now. Not yet. He kissed her finger, his eyes fluttering closed in understanding, and hers followed suit. She leaned in to kiss him again, but he had another plan, taking the rest of her hand and kissing her knuckle gently, a soft caress and words whispered against them. "Your hands are beautiful," was all he said, and if he meant for her chest to constrict at his words, he succeeded, because suddenly she felt a lump rising in her throat at the notion that her hands, the hands that had done so much harm, could be any sort of beautiful.

Tony must have sensed her hesitation, because he pulled her into him again, wrapping his arms tightly around her and kissing the top of her hair, sensing that she needed him to be there, to remind her that she was loved, even if he would not say the words. Her hands were pressed against his chest as he held her close, and her fingers twitched between them, fingering lightly at the hairs that were peeking through his slightly unbuttoned shirt. He drew back enough to reach between them, tilting her chin up and kissing her softly, and this time, it was like a dam burst as she kissed him back hungrily, finally giving in and allowing him in fully.

They devoured each other, her lips moving roughly against his own, and this … _this_ felt more like what he remembered, but somehow with more passion, and perhaps that only made _sense,_ after all, they'd had years of memories between them now. He cupped her face in his hand as he flexed his jaw to deepen the kiss, and he Ziva worked quickly and efficiently to unbutton his shirt and work her hand inside, reveling in the feeling of his warm skin against her hand, running her fingers lightly along each bit of skin she could and taking in every new bit of him as he held her close. She teased at the collar slightly, and he got the hint, pulling his hands away from her just long enough for her to help him remove it, and soon he was bare-chested and wrapping his arms back around her, groaning into her kisses as she teasingly dragged her nails down his back.

Only Ziva could bring him pain in the midst of pleasure and have him enjoy it.

He slid his hands slowly down to the hem of her shirt, his thumbs trailing lightly underneath, finding that her skin, too, was warm, and he desperately wanted to feel hers against his own. "Ziva," he gasped, pulling away just slightly, and she got the hint, stepping back just enough to take the shirt off. Her bra followed almost immediately after, much to his chagrin. "I kinda wanted to take that off," he gasped into her hair as he pulled her close, nibbling lightly at her ear.

"Next time," she promised before kissing him again, and the very idea that there might _be_ a next time caused him to growl hungrily into her mouth, wrapping his arms even tighter around her bare back as he walked her slowly backward and to the first bedroom – not even the one either of them had been sleeping in, but it didn't matter at this point.

 _Next time,_ her words echoed in his head, and god above, he sure wished there would be a next time. He dared not vocalize it, lest she realize what she'd said and shut it all down.

When they finally managed to end up at the bed, Ziva sat down, pulling him down by the neck so that he was hovering over her, her back arching deliciously toward him and her breasts pointing enticingly at him. They were beautiful. _She_ was beautiful. He nibbled at her lips as he reached for her, finally reaching out to touch her, lovingly caressing first one, delighting at how hard her nipples were, and then the other, before pulling away slightly, just enough to breathe, "Beautiful," before kissing her again.

She pulled him down so that he was lying on top of her, both of them still partially clothed, and she felt him hot and hard between her legs, even through all the layers of they had between them. He ground against her slowly, groaning as she hissed, the friction caused only serving to add to the torture and not ease it.

The weight of him was arousing, and she felt as though he was everywhere, his lips tasting and teasing; his hands exciting and exploring. Ziva felt utterly consumed by him, as though Tony were a fire she simply could not put out – a fire, she found, she did not _want_ to put out. Her fingers twined in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him deeper into their embrace, and he pressed against her so that she moaned into his mouth with need.

He lifted up just slightly, enough to reach between them and unbutton her pants. Gazing at her, his eyes asking a question he didn't need to voice, she nodded with a slight smile in assent, giving him the permission he sought to remove her pants, to take this another step, and he wasted no time, lifting her hips and sliding the garment off of her, leaving her in nothing but her panties before settling back down on top of her, kissing her hungrily once more.

Ziva groaned against him, feeling him pressing against her even more insistently, and she practically wanted to beg him to strip her bare and just bury himself in her already, because she wasn't sure how much of this slow burn she could possibly take. "Tony," she warned, pulling away slightly, and he grinned against her mouth as he slid one hand between them and into her panties, tracing just the lightest line through her most sensitive area, causing her to cry out and arch her back toward him, chasing _more._

"You're so wet for me, Ziva," he gasped, and her entire being clenched with need. _How_ many times had she heard him utter that exact phrase while thinking about him at night? _Only for you,_ she would respond in her fantasy, and before she could open her mouth to say the words, he slid one finger between them and into her folds, causing her to curse loudly.

" _Fuck,"_ she groaned as she ground into his hand, craving more contact than he was giving her. He'd barely inserted one finger and she was wound tight with need, every last inch of her was burning with it, for him. He gazed at her intently as he worked her with his finger, withdrawing slowly and teasing at her entrance, rubbing slightly over her clit, and then back down and into her again, his cock straining at the way she arched off the bed and into his hand, practically writhing against his wrist.

God, but wanton Ziva was a sight to behold.

He was moving torturously slowly, and Ziva could barely stand it, the way he had her almost entirely at his whims, but she didn't want him to stop, not _now._ He was working her up, winding her up so tight she was fit to burst, and she was practically begging him for it now, to give her what she wanted and just _fuck her already._ "Tony, please," she moaned, and he leaned down to kiss her, his fingers still curling agonizingly slowly inside of her. She had never had her pleasure drawn out quite this long, and quite so expertly, and she kissed him sloppily, feeling simultaneously like she was so close but so far away.

When he finally withdrew his fingers she whimpered, opening her eyes and glaring at him, much to his amusement. He'd just left her hanging, dangling perilously close to the edge. He hadn't given her what she so desperately craved. "I need you," she whined, marveling at the neediness in her own voice as she reached for his pants and began to unbutton them, not even caring about returning the favor. All she wanted was to _feel_ him, to _have_ him. She needed him, desperately.

Once his pants and boxers were finally disposed of and her panties finally tossed off the bed in a heap, she pulled him back down and toward her, delighting in the feel of him, hot and hard and pressed against her bare skin. She reached between them to grab him, chuckling slightly at the way he twitched into her grasp. Stroking him slowly, savoring the way he felt in her hand, big and deliciously hard, she kissed him quickly before speaking. "I need you," she gasped again, and it took all of his restraint not to bury himself inside her in one quick stroke, but he wanted to make this last.

Tony reached between him and covered her hand with his own, aiding her in stroking him slowly, groaning at the way her hand felt wrapped tightly around his cock. She let his fingers intertwine with his slightly, enjoying the intimacy of the moment when he started to rub his tip at her entrance. Her entire body clenched with anticipation, and she felt as though she was fit to burst if he didn't enter her _immediately._

"Fuck me already, Tony," she ordered, and he chuckled as he again rubbed the head of his cock along her sensitive clit, causing her to arch up and toward him with a groan. God, but she really was _so_ fucking wet for him, and so fucking ready, but he needed her to understand that this meant more than just a simple fuck.

"I don't want to just fuck you," he whispered against her lips, his hand squeezing hers, even as she tried to maneuver him into position. "I want to make love to you." He spoke even softer, if it was possible, his lips caressing hers with each word, and his heart constricted in his chest at the way her eyes fluttered open to look at him in surprise.

" _Please,"_ was all she said, practically begging, and he kissed her gently as he finally positioned himself at her entrance, pulling her hand away from his cock and intertwining it with his as he slowly slid inside of her, groaning at the way she contracted around him, and the way she cried and took him in, fully seating himself deep inside of her.

"My god," he gasped, his eyes wide with wonder, and she couldn't speak to reply, just squeezed his hand and urged him forward. Their eyes locked just for a moment, and it was almost _too_ much, to see such honesty and bare trust between them, that her eyes fluttered closed as she pulled his lips down to her own, groaning as she felt him twitching inside her.

 _Fuck,_ but he was fucking perfect.

He moved slowly, wanting to build that pressure gradually, needing to show her that it wasn't just about reaching the finish line. She seemed to finally understand, her free hand coming to wrap tightly around his ass as she thrust up and toward him, meeting his pace and groaning every time he filled her, a thrill of … _something_ … settling deep within her each time. He felt …

"Amazing … incredible … oh, _Tony,"_ she gasped, her fingers still locked tightly with his, and he groaned heavily with every single gasp she made, taking great pleasure in the way she arched toward him, as though she couldn't possibly get enough of him.

All of the urgency from before seemed to have vanished, as Ziva allowed Tony to set this slow pace, luxuriating in one another and simply enjoying the sensation of _being_ together. She was wet and tight and seemed to fit with him perfectly, as though she had literally been made just for him, and he knew that, even if Ziva walked out of his life tomorrow, there would never be another for him, that she was absolutely _it_ for him.

He caressed her cheek, stilling momentarily, kissing her deeply. "I want you to be on top," he murmured against her lips, and she smiled at a memory from long ago, where she'd suddenly flipped him onto his back like it had been nothing. This was nothing like then, however, and she squeezed the hand that she was still holding as she nodded, allowing him to roll to his back, never pulling fully away from him.

Ziva leaned forward to kiss him, rolling her hips lightly on top of him and feeling him delightfully still seated fully inside of her. She began to grind against him, her hips rolling slowly up and then back down, and he tangled his fingers into her hair to keep it from her face, pulling her head down every so often to kiss her gently, his gaze never leaving her face for more than a few seconds. Despite her earlier need, she had grown used to this slow pace, the slow drag of his cock within her, and she kept at it. She delighted when he would surprise her by bucking his hips up and into her, causing a sharp yelp to fall from her lips, his grin mischievous. He grasped at her hips as she writhed atop him, clinging to her for dear life, as though she might just fly away and he might wake to find this all a dream.

He watched her as she sat atop him, the way that his cock disappeared into her every time she sank back down on him making him groan. "Fuck, that is so hot," he growled as he dug his nails into her skin, and she threw her head back at his words, rocking back on him and moaning at the new spot he could hit from that position. He was getting closer, but he was nowhere near done with her yet.

"Kiss me," he begged, and she started to lean forward, but he had another idea. Sliding his hands down to the mattress for leverage, he began to sit up, wanting to feel that skin-to-skin contact with her again. Ziva reached forward to help him, and suddenly he was sitting, his cock still deep inside her, and she wrapped his legs around his back, their bodies fully tangled together.

They could barely move like this, but it hardly mattered, as Tony cradled her head in his hands and kissed her passionately, his lips moving in time with the shallow thrusts he could manage. They couldn't remain in this position for long, not if either of them had any intention of coming, but the intimacy between them was worth it, the way their bodies pressed together, the heat between them only growing.

When he finally pulled away, punctuating the embrace with another small kiss, he tilted her chin with his fingers and gazed into her eyes. "I love you," he choked, and for the first time since they'd joined, she stilled, her pulse pounding in her ears.

"No, Tony," she whispered softly, her heart tightening within her. God, how she loved him, _so_ fucking much, but they couldn't. He couldn't.

He insisted. "Please, I … had to … you have to know." They were barely moving against each other now, but he still felt her quiver in his arms, and he wanted nothing more than to bring her pleasure, to _show_ her rather than to tell her how he felt.

" _Tony,"_ she pleaded again, willing the lump in her throat to subside, for the tears welling in her eyes to go away. He didn't respond other than to kiss her, and he lay back down on the bed, pulling her down and on top of him again, sighing into her mouth as she began to move more fully, and rolling her so that he was again on top.

He had been nothing but slow and steady the entire time, so when he began to thrust more forcefully, more rapidly, it was like something burst inside her. All of the buildup had been leading to this, and she pushed back against him, giving him everything he was giving her. "Oh, _Tony,"_ she cried, savoring the way he felt inside her, the way each hard thrust against her body drove her closer to the edge. Each hard, fast thrust she punctuated with a moan, and Tony grunted as he drove into her, sweat now beading on his forehead as he worked to bring them both to the brink. She clenched around him with each thrust of his hips, feeling the tension building up to where it had been when she'd been begging him to enter her, higher and higher, more and more and _more._

"Fuck, Ziva," he gasped, reaching between them to rub at her clit, and she clenched around him again, tighter this time, and finally, _finally,_ she was gone, crying out his name as she felt her walls pulsing around him, finally flying over the edge she'd been so close to for what seemed like forever. She trembled, she shivered, she grasped at him, and she cried his name like it was the only word she knew, each thrust driving her further into an endless wave of pleasure.

"With me," she begged, barely coherent as she squeezed his hand, and soon he was joining her, his thrusting becoming more erratic as grunted, her orgasm driving him finally to completion as he emptied himself in her, giving himself more fully than he ever had and collapsing on top of her, his body slick with sweat and his cock twitching with the aftershocks of his release.

He didn't know how long he lay there, her fingers tracing absently along the skin of his shoulder as he shivered against her, his semi-erect cock still seated inside her. He was loathe to move, loathe to break away from this perfect bubble that they'd created with their lovemaking. His breathing grew deep, even, and he sighed raggedly against her as he thought about just how much of himself he'd given to her. He had never been this intimate with another, never given another woman this much, and he felt both vulnerable and at the same time fortified.

She kissed him lightly and he sucked in a breath at the contact, still sensitive. So this is what it was like, then, to make love to Ziva? To bare not just his soul, but his everything? To say that he loved her was beyond an understatement, but he dared not say it again. _I love you,_ he thought, squeezing her gently, and she squeezed him back, as though maybe, he hadn't needed to say it, and she just understood.

Still, when she was finally asleep, snoring lightly in his arms, he couldn't bring himself to _not_ say it. "I love you, Ziva," he whispered as he brushed a piece of hair off of her face. She had given him tonight, and he hoped that it had been enough to persuade her, at least for a little while longer. Maybe he could just keep on persuading her indefinitely, until they ended up sharing the rest of their lives together.

"Maybe," he whispered to the quiet house, but even with the way Ziva curled into him in her sleep, he knew that it was too much to hope for. That soon, he would be leaving her, leaving everything he had ever cherished, and he couldn't stop the tears this time, letting them fall unbidden to the pillow where he held her as she slept.

* * *

 **I know, I know, you hate me, right? Well this is a missing scene from PPF, it wasn't supposed to end with sunshine and rainbows! Put the knife away. Go read my fic Separation Anxiety for the happy ending. It happens. I promise.**


End file.
